Of Course
by blueandblack
Summary: Harry is done with homes. Written for anythingbutgrey's Non-Canon Harry potter Ficathon. The prompt was 'Now try to leave but my bones just won't move'. Warning: Contains a spoiler for the first Deathly Hallows movie.


Harry is done with homes.

When he was a child living in a cupboard under the stairs he used to dream of a home - a proper home where he belonged. A home where people loved him - or liked him at least. He tried not to hope for too much back then.

But when he did hope, he hoped there'd be an apartment in London, with no dust and no spiders. He hoped he'd have parents - even if they were the pretend kind, that would be enough. And he'd have a brother if he was lucky, a brother who loved him - or liked him at least.

They'd eat icecream by the river in summer. And they'd go to all the plays and fairs that Dudley talked about so often and so loudly.

Once, when he'd done something wrong, again - _always_ - Harry heard his aunt and uncle bickering about him in the kitchen, and the words _social services_ were said, several times, by each.

Harry burst out of his cupboard and skidded to a halt in the hallway, wished his breathing would stop with his feet.

He stayed as still as he could. He listened intently. He was seven and a half, just clever enough to know that any sign of enthusiasm from him would be enough to silence them on the subject forever. So he just waited. He just hoped.

"Don't be ridiculous, Vernon," he heard his aunt spit irritably, "that's a pipe dream and it always will be. You _know_ we can't, you _know_ why."

Harry rested his head heavily against the wall, winced when it hit the corner of a picture frame. He looked up. Dudley was jiggling in his cot.

_"Why?"_ he whispered miserably.

Uncle Vernon didn't speak after that. Harry heard the familiar sound of a newspaper being shaken out, and then there were only occasional grunts - approving or disapproving, it was hard to tell.

He went back to his cupboard.

* * *

Hogwarts was Harry's home, but it was everybody else's too. And everybody else had another all their own. (Except maybe the professors because they never seemed to leave.)

Everybody else had two homes, but one was enough for Harry.

Until Sirius showed up. He said they'd live together. He said that's how it was always supposed to be. Harry believed him, on both counts, and he thought to himself that a Godfather wasn't a real father, but hadn't he always said pretend parents would be enough?

He waited while Sirius was hiding. He found it was a whole lot easier to wait when you had something to look forward to.

(He had never known what it was to toss and turn on Christmas morning, willing the shadows to thin.)

* * *

Grimmauld place surprised him. It was his home - suddenly, sort of. It was his home, but it was everybody else's too. Some nights Harry wondered what it would be like if the house wasn't so full of thoughts, or if the thoughts it was full of were ordinary, along the lines of 'I'll never get all this pre-reading done before the Hogwarts Express leaves.' or 'Shall we have bacon or steak for lunch, Harry? Or both? Why not!'

He smiled secretly. _Soon,_ he thought.

* * *

Soon never came, for obvious reasons.

Harry supposes Grimmauld place could still be his home someday, but it's lonely and filled with tricks and memories and he can't imagine ever feeling like he belongs there. Not without Sirius.

And Hogwarts... Hogwarts has been taken. It's been infected. Severus Snape sweeps over Dumbledore's footprints and Harry thinks that by the time he gets back there, there'll be nothing left that is his.

Harry thinks he may never get back there at all.

It doesn't matter.

He's done with homes.

* * *

Hermione is weary and casual when she says "Maybe we should just stay here, Harry. Grow old."

Harry wants to gasp, he wants to bolt upright. He can't make his body move quick enough though, and maybe that's a good thing, because he seems weary and casual too when he says nothing.

_I'm done with homes,_ he thinks carefully.

* * *

The curious thing is that they do stay there, right where they are in the woods Hermione used to camp in with the parents she has lost to Voldemort too.

They stay there, not long enough to grow old, but longer than either of them thinks they ought.

It's so easy not to move. It's so easy to eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast, lunch and tea. It's so easy to lie side by side and pretend they are coming up with plans.

It takes Harry a long time to wake up. When he does, his head is on Hermione's shoulder and her fingers are curled at his neck. She's been holding him through a dream, he thinks, and he shudders as he sits up.

"Was it bad?" Hermione whispers. "You were thrashing a bit. And then you were just sort of... whimpering, I suppose."

"I was at Godric's Hollow," Harry says.

_My first home._

"Mum was there, but she was dead already. And Voldemort - just his voice... He said I'd die before I saw his face again. He said I'd die today - here."

_My last home._

Hermione stands up and dusts herself off. She begins packing immediately and Harry frowns. He pulls wet and dry leaves out of his hair. He says "Hey we don't have to go yet - it was only a dream."

Hermione shakes her head curtly. "We don't know that, Harry. We can't take any chances with the things that go on inside your head."

Harry smiles at the way she says it - business-like. Stern and not exactly reproachful.

She's frowning though, in a sort of quivering way. She's rubbing at her eyes like she's the one who just woke up.

Harry wants to stand up, dust himself off. He wants to help her. He wants to turn the radio on and make her dance again.

He wants to do all of those things, but he feels as though his body still can't move quick enough. And maybe it doesn't matter, because Hermione is just that efficient - by the time he does get to his feet she's almost all done.

Her little bag is full of their lives.

Harry picks it up, dangles it by the strings. "Amazing how it's not heavy," he murmurs.

"Yes," Hermione says, folding up a near-forgotten pyjama top. "I'm pretty pleased with it."

Harry looks up at her but she's not catching his eye. She's moving about more than she needs to. She's flitting.

Harry says "You know, when you started pulling things out of this bag back in London, I thought... I thought 'Of course.'"

Hermione smiles briskly. "Out of the tent, Harry!" she says, and the exclamation point is bright.

She holds open the flap and shoos him into daylight. And then the tent is packed and the barriers are down and they are ready to go.

Harry takes her hand, and he says quickly "Wait."

Hermione glances at him. She looks flustered and reluctantly thoughtful. She waits.

Harry grins slowly. He thinks he will be exhausted when he gets there.

He says "When I saw you with that bag in London I remember I thought 'Of course.'"

He shakes his head like you drop a bowling ball. He looks down at his shoes.

"I thought 'Of course Hermione has everything I need.'"

Harry hears Hermione swallow. He feels her squeeze his hand.

He closes his eyes before the forest disappears.


End file.
